Duhik
by Strelitzian
Summary: Duhik means "ridiculous" according to the VLD. Drabbles, of varying tone and style, based around random words from an online dictionary. T for future. Mostly Spock or Spock/Uhura but there will be a bit of everyone! UPDATE!
1. Conglobate

**A/N**

**A little light relief from my main saga "Aftermath"**

**I've decided to do this every so often: take the "Word of the Day" from Dictionary . com and come up with (what I believe is called?) a drabble using that word as the title. (Someone please find me a Fandom Dictionary!)**

**Here goes. It's a doozy….**

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><p><strong>Conglobate<strong>

-To form into a ball/round compact mass

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><p>There is no force in the universe that unites men of science so much as an 'emergency'.<p>

"Aye sure, I can whip you something up," said the Engineer, "I'm thinking a wee adjustment to one of the spare transponder regulators." He studied the dimensions on the screen in front of him, "I'll need to stick it in a sub-trithanium casing. For the weight. It'll be a bit of a tight squeeze, but aye. It can be done."

"How long will that take, Engineer?" Spock asked.

"About an hour, maybe."

"Dammit, Scotty. We've only got an hour and a half, tops. Spock and I will need at least forty-five minutes to make the final adjustments."

"A rough spheroid will be sufficient."

"Aye, sir," Mr Scott left sickbay briskly, where the three men had been gathered around one of the sickbeds.

The doctor glanced down at the patient, lying dead on the bed.

"Is this the right thing to do, Spock?"

"I cannot envisage any alternative."

"But what would Nyota think? And the Captain? I mean…you killed it."

Spock's tone of voice was sharp. "We are in this together, McCoy." He hesitated. "They must not know, of course."

"Agreed."

The two men shook hands, somewhat awkwardly, and turned their attention to the task in hand. McCoy carried out most of the particularly delicate work, though Spock was able to assist in cleaning out what fur was stripped from the creature's body. Some had been lost due to the accident, but the rest was merely matted with blood.

Finally, Scotty reappeared, carrying the device. He set it down next to the newly scalped alien carcass. "Jesus, gentlemen, how can we live with ourselves?"

"Dismissed Mr Scott," Spock said. He did not look up from his work. Scott sighed and turned to leave. Before he walked through the doors, he glanced back at the dead alien. "Poor wee thing. Poor, bonny wee creature."

In truth, they were unsure of how they were going to keep this particular secret. Their solution was, inevitably, a ridiculous one. But necessary. They weren't even sure how it had happened in the first place.

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><p>The relationship between Lieutenant Uhura and Commander Spock had been out in the open for some time after the entire Nero "fiasco" (another example of McCoy's talent for understatement). Most of the senior officers had shyly called on the couple, congratulating them and offering embarrassing "advice" and even "sex tips" (a few of the more over-familiar yeomen).<p>

Mr. Scott and Doctor McCoy, feeling that they had somewhat neglected their Vulcan crewmate, decided to visit.

Nyota was not in her quarters, and so Spock received them with a degree of awkwardness even the two humans couldn't help noticing. Then, suddenly, they noticed the chirping little creature in the corner of the room.

"What the hell is that?" Scott had asked, jumping to his feet.

"Hairy balls." McCoy said blankly. "Mr Spock you appear to have a couple of hairy balls in a cage."

"It's a tribble!" Scott beamed. "Cute wee thing. I take it it's the new geneo-stabilised breed."

"Correct."

"Sure, you'd be overrun with the little bastards otherwise." McCoy said, coming closer. "Ah, I see you've only got one." He opened the latch of the cage and reached in to run his fingers over the tribble's smooth coat. He grinned. "Listen to that purr, Scotty." He withdrew his hand.

"Mr Spock," Scott said as the two men glanced further around the apartment, "Have you been…hungry?"

A pile of empty cookie and potato chip packets were sprawled over the counter just beside the tribble's cage. There were even a few jars of empty peanut butter.

"I tend to require more sustenance when I reflect over a scientific hypotheses," said Spock. "Which is what I was doing before you gentlemen came to call." He hastily snatched up a pile of wrappers and threw them into the disposal chute. "And I-"

Suddenly there was a terrible grinding sound, before a jet of blood flew out of the disposal chute right against the walls – it reminded all three men of those, "D-movies" they'd once read about.

"Wh-what was that?" McCoy demanded, frozen.

Mr Spock swallowed, resigned. "I believe, gentlemen, that I have just thrown Lieutenant Uhura's newest pet into the disposal chute."

Silence.

"Spock, didn't you notice you were holding a _goddam hairy ball_?

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><p>To Spock's eyes, the operation had been a success. McCoy had attached the artificial fur to Mr Scott's device beautifully. Spock had programmed in a few more modifications, so that the creature moved and purred like the original.<p>

Spock, at this stage, did not care much for his dignity as he raced down the corridor with the counterfeit tribble under his arm. With three minutes to spare before the end of Nyota's shift, he stuffed the thing into its cage and closed the hatch.

Nyota came in through the door. He glanced one more time at the new tribble, content that it would suffice for the following few weeks until the chance came to discreetly replace it.

"How was your shift tonight, t'hy'la?"

Nyota raised an eyebrow at him. An alarming gesture. "Everything was fine, Spock, until I got a message from Disposal. Something about half a dead tribble?"

Spock didn't move.

"And then," she inched closer. "A few reports of our First Officer running around with what looked like a furry dildo. And then Disposal reported that they got the rest of the tribble."

She put her arms around him. "You owe me big time, mister."


	2. Animadvert

**A/N – This takes place during Chapter Five of my "Aftermath" serial. Think of it as an "outtake". You might not get what's going on here unless you read that first…I'm just sayin'.**

**P.S. For anyone wondering about the continuation of the "Aftermath" story: I'm still working on it. I just have one or two things to change here and there, and then I'll be ready to get the next chapter uploaded. **

**Read and review – it's the only currency that matters. **

**Oh God, do I wish I owned a Spock.**

Animadvert:

To comment unfavourably or critically

To censure ; to speak out against

On the first few nights, the heat could at least have been mistaken for eroticism. Having peeled away the layers, they lay tangled around each other for hours. They let the sheets twist around their legs and arms, growing ever tighter with every movement, and let fingers glide over lips, lips over skin.

Finally, though, the heat had exhausted them.

"Why isn't there any air conditioning in this place?" Nyota muttered, fanning herself with a makeshift fan (a tray she found in the kitchenette). Even with the windows open, they couldn't quite shake that _unclean _feeling of salt faintly covering their skin.

"We have spent too long in the apartment," Spock replied, and he threw her a somewhat sly look.

She didn't see it. "Yes, I guess it was all a bit excessive," She'd thrown an arm over her eyes as she lay in the bed, not even bothering to pull the sheet over her. They had only ever been fully dressed for a total of three hours over the past week – running out to the passing supply van to get their rations, and then spending a little time talking to their Vulcan neighbours.

"I can't wait to get back to Fed space," she said.

"I admit that I too am beginning to tire of the heat. But," and lay over her and pulled her arm away from her eyes, "It is good to be here with you, like this."

She laughed, "It was pretty good, I know…" His hand brushed again her breast, and his mouth soon followed, "I'll definitely miss this when we get back to ship." With his mouth against her throat, he made a low sound of agreement.

She sighed, just before the time to speak was over. "Maybe we should keep the heat turned up back on the ship."


	3. Small Island

**A/N **

**I'm going to include any prompt-related writing at all in this collection. Response to IronSpockMaster's prompt "Small Island" on the Live Long and Prosper - Drabble Like A Tribble forum boards. **

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><p>The captain and the doctor sat together over lunch, peering at Spock as he played chess, alone.<p>

"The crew doesn't like him, Chris," said Boyce, narrowing his eyes over a cup of coffee.

"He's pretty hard to take," Pike admitted, "But he's a Vulcan, Phil. They don't socialise like us."

"O'Hara said that Spock blanked him when he offered to play him at chess."

"Logical, really," Pike grinned. "O'Hara sucks at chess." He sighed, "Number One likes him."

"Probably comparing notes."

"Now, Doctor, what's that saying…Something about men and islands…?"

Doctor Boyce looked over at the Vulcan, "And long peninsulas."


	4. Lucent

**A/N Christine's little way of saying that she's cool with Nyota/Spock. Happy holidays!**

**Lucent:**

**Shining**

**Translucent; clear**

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><p><strong>Deck Five<strong>

Every year, it was an unspoken tradition for Nyota Uhura and Christine Chapel to meet and get ready for the annual dinner that the Captain organised for his crew.

By the time that Nyota arrived, Christine was already sitting at the dresser. She was perfecting her make-up. "You look great, Chris," Nyota said. "Love the dress. Short and sweet."

Christine feigned a curtsy. "What are you wearing this year?"

Nyota reached into the bag she had brought with her, "I thought I'd go for something a bit different." She pulled out the long robe that she'd bought from her last trip to Vulcan. She held it up against herself.

"It's beautiful, Ny."

Nyota fumbled through her bag and produced her gift for Christine. "Sorry it's not wrapped," she said sheepishly. It was a pair of old style leather bound journals, with crisp blank pages. "You told me you thought the ships logs were so impersonal."

Christine smiled happily as she set the books gently on her dresser. She opened a drawer. "I bought yours from that trader who came to the ship last month. I hope it's as good as he said it was." She produced a small rectangular box and handed it to Nyota.

"Perfume!" Nyota opened the box and took out the slender bottle. She held it up against the light. "I've never seen this kind before." The liquid inside was thick, almost gelatinous, but when it caught the light it there was a golden tint to it. She sprayed a little against her wrist, and it was as suddenly as delicate as water. It smelled spicy, yet sweet and clear. "I like it."

"Well, you'd better get ready. We don't have much time."

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><p>When the women arrived at the ready room, the others were already milling around, drinks in hand. Even Spock appeared to have caved in to the doctor's requests and had what looked like a glass of Saurian brandy in his hand. Untouched, naturally.<p>

Nyota smiled at Spock, and self-consciously smoothed the deep blue fabric of her dress on her hips. Though he would never admit it, the motion was not lost on Spock. As it was a Vulcan dress, there was certainly nothing on show. But she had learned through experience that Vulcans had their own brand of sensuality, and the dress demonstrated that perfectly. It happened to cling just right to the curves of her body. Spock's eyes lowered from her throat to her hips in one motion that the others would never have noticed. She smiled.

Just before everyone sat down to dinner, Christine whispered to Nyota that she really ought to top up her perfume. It was fading, apparently. Nyota dutifully reapplied it.

She and Spock sat next to one another at dinner. Nyota happily conversed with everyone around her, like she always did. She joked and smiled and occasionally shrieked with laughter. At first Spock only nodded, adding a dry comment here and there. But as the night wore on, she noticed a change in his demeanour. His hand, hidden by the table, rested on her thigh.

Even when dinner ended, and they went back to drifting about the room, he was reluctant to leave her side. He seemed strained, somehow, almost impatient.

"What is it, Spock?" she asked him when they managed to retreat to a private corner.

She could hardly believe it when he ran his fingertips lightly along the exposed skin of her neck. He leaned in and whispered, "Come to my quarters. Now." He straightened and raised his eyebrow. How did this man make that gesture so damned _suggestive_? She couldn't help smile a little. He turned slowly and then left the ready room.

Nyota paused a moment to make to heat die down from her face. She caught Christine's eye just before she left to follow him. Christine darted forward, "I think he likes the perfume," she said, her eyes glimmering.

"The perfume…? Ah…"

"Enjoy tonight, Ny. Happy holidays."

Nyota was going to say something, but she decided against it. There was an unusually stimulated Vulcan waiting for her. On her way to his quarters, she made a mental note to keep a bottle of that perfume in stock at all times. The results would prove to be…fascinating.


	5. Canticle

Canticle:

A song, poem, or hymn especially of praise.

A/N I've zoned in on the religious connotations of this word. A little study on the nature of Vulcans.

Spock and McCoy strolled slowly along through the hold of the ship, past the uniform lines of Vulcans on their knees. Their eyes were closed, their steepled fingers pressed against their lips. "Spock, what are they doing?"

"The correct verb does not exist in Standard. I would hazard that "praying" will suffice."

"Vulcans?Praying? To, what, God or something?" McCoy spoke a little too loudly, and the Vulcan woman next to him glanced up sharply.

"There are no Gods, Doctor," Spock paused, "I am ever more convinced of that fact after the events of today."

"Then what –?"

"'To pray' often represents a mental state akin to meditation. Upon reflection, neither word is adequate to describe so involved an experience."

McCoy paused, "En masse meditation?" It was an eerie sight. The Vulcans barely moved, except when the passage of the ship caused their heads to roll back a little on their necks.

"Correct, more or less. They have established temporary telepathic bonds between each other, all the better to focus the mind and share thoughts, experiences. So tragic an event will not be without repercussions for the Vulcan soul; control must be maintained at all cost."

"Can you feel it, Spock?"

"There is a certain…presence in my mind."

"A feeling?"

A Vulcan eyebrow was cocked.

"Is that it, Spock? A feeling?"

"I have my shields in place, and so I am not experiencing the full force of the meld."

"But there is something?"

Spock seemed reluctant to speak further, and when he did speak his voice was a shade hoarser, "There is no pure Vulcan word for "conqueror", Doctor. We have borrowed that term from you humans. No Vulcan has ever lived that saw their race defeated. I am not surprised by what I sense here today."

"What?"

"Astonishment."


End file.
